No Love, No Glory
by littlequeenofthestage
Summary: Han and Leia lie together in a prison cell on Bespin, on what would be one of their last nights together. Leia struggles with those who would desire to control her mind; Han would do anything to lighten the load. He can never know that he is the load.


**No Love, No Glory**

* * *

 _And so it is…_

* * *

There was a great deal about the Force which Leia did not understand — having never read enough about it, heard enough about it, seen it or experienced it enough to affirmatively make sense of it in her mind. The history of the thing, she could recite from memory. The book knowledge, she could teach to children.

But in all her goings-along and every singular experience, every mere brush with the entity that was the Force, none of this information had been useful. In fact, the only reference to the Force that she could take comfort in knowing was a phrase which General Kenobi had often used in chastisement, in disagreement with her father and many other members of council. She could still hear it in her mind, in his strange, haunted voice.

 _The Force can be a tool, and it can be a weapon — but it can also make weapons out of those who wield it._

She hadn't understood it in her youth. She hadn't understood it a few weeks ago, even.

But she knew, now.

There was a silence over the room in this moment, as there had been for some hours; although it didn't feel like a silence, but more a suspended pause, in anticipation of something. There wasn't any effective means of telling the time, but it had been hours since their last meal, and sleep beckoned either way. No one was sleeping, though.

Han was pretending to be, at least, and that was comforting. She could pretend that he was sleeping — that he wasn't wide awake right behind her, so close that he could hear her restrained breaths, feel her heart pounding, the sweat rising in millimeters off her skin…

For the past few days, she hadn't slept at all; or at least not long enough to remember. And there were phases when she didn't feel tired at all, because all her energy, her entire _mind_ and every sensation, were gathered into this tight little ball of wire inside her head, all day and all night.

They wanted to use her.

Leia did not have the Force, no matter what Luke contended in his earnest conversations to her — lauding her reflexes or her focus or their "supernatural" mental synchronization with each other. She was not of any higher power. She was not of any superior mental position. If she were, this would be no challenge at all.

Luke was the one, and Vader knew the resident strength of the Force inside him. He knew that Luke could even now, from planets and entire systems away, hear one cry and set out to find them. He knew that Luke could feel her emotions.

So they beat him. They beat Han, and they abused him, and they attacked him and violated him and picked away at every edge of his resistance — and then they all turned to her and waited. They baited her, and provoked her, trying to make her cry out — trying to make her surrender her mind as their weapon.

She would _not_ be their weapon.

On nights like these, she had to be careful not to shift too harshly. His bruises were numerous now, and his skin made sensitive, and his limbs made achy. Still, he lay right behind her, with an arm and a leg loose to draw her into him, to consume her inside his embrace. And she wished to return the embrace.

There were many things she wished to do. She wanted to turn to him, and to hold him, and to kiss him, and to tell him she loved him back, and _yet_ …

She couldn't surrender.

They must have been here for weeks, and through all this hell, he had been patient. He had continued to comfort her, and to defend her, and to sleep behind her every night — and he had waited patiently for her to reciprocate any kind of feeling toward him. And she continued to let him down.

She hadn't spoken to him or to anyone for three days now, counting by the meal — not a single word, because the task was so strong, and it could overcome her easily. Her mind was locked down, so that nothing could get out, and no one could trespass. She hadn't accepted food or water in many hours now, afraid that even the distraction of eating would betray her. The paranoia gnawed at her stomach, so much that if she were to eat or drink, she didn't think she'd be able to keep it down.

But he was trying everything he knew to do, just to get her to eat or to sleep or to look at him. He was trying _everything_.

He'd even told her he loved her this morning.

And everything was fuzzy and she was spiraling. And so tonight, when she was most vulnerable, and most strained, and at the very brink of her sanity — that was when her body succumbed to sleep.

 _Fire._

Orange smoke had flooded her vision and she'd coughed violently, so much that her eyes were screwed shut from the steam. But not even closed eyes could hide her from the sight — the face descending into the flames, the eyes locked with hers until _panic_ , raining of smoke and violent shouting filling her ears, as she watched him watch himself drop down into that which was unseen, but so strongly…

 _Death._

He was going to die.

Leia did not have the Force; she was not of any higher power, nor of any superior mental position, and yet she knew, she _knew_ and she could feel and she could hear and see that he would die here.

He wasn't asleep. He was moving.

"'s okay," came a whisper to her left ear, so that she could barely hear it. But it caused Chewie to stir slightly, seated across the cell. He looked over at them, and quickly away.

They were all watching her — waiting with bated breath.

She inhaled a shuddering breath, as the panic filled her chest so suddenly and would not leave, would not pass with time. She couldn't stop feeling him there, with his heart beating, his breaths audible just inches away. She couldn't stop thinking of how _alive_ he was, just right now. It was not yet as her dream had been — inevitable and finished and done. He was alive. There was something that could be _done,_ and no, no, no, because these were the thoughts that would get them all _killed_ …

She would not be their weapon. She _would not be_ their weapon.

"Shh," he breathed, feeling her trembling as her chest rose and fell in awkward rhythm. He inched up closer behind her, and his arms came around her more snugly. "Go back to sleep. I've got you."

"I can't-" she replied out of nowhere — and she stopped herself short, _held her breath_ to keep from speaking any more. Her breaths became shallow and sharp until she was sure there was no oxygen involved anymore, but only heaving and fear.

"You can," he reassured her simply; and then his lips made little kisses on her neck, clumsy and soft and comforting. "'s okay."

It wasn't okay. She was going to break and they were all going to suffer tremendously and she would have no one left, or she was going to keep on this way and lose him, and _watch_ , watch herself lose him, watch him slip through her fingers…

She was going to lose everyone, and it would be all her fault.

And she'd be alone again.

It was too much. She wasn't strong enough. She was exhausted and weak and hungry and thirsty and tired and sick and in mental and emotional _agony and she would not be their weapon, she would_ _ **not**_ _be their weapon._ It was a choice and she would not be their weapon. She wouldn't let Vader manipulate her into sending everything she loved to the slaughter — not again.

She couldn't make this decision. She couldn't arbitrate whom to save and whom to surrender-

 _"_ _I love you."_

It brought her to a halt.

It was just a soft message from behind her ear, which could have almost been a memory for how distant and small, and how heavy its affectation on her. It was gentle and yet desperate, urgent but also patient, and it completely destroyed every inch of her resolve. It crushed her.

And this would become the foregone conclusion, rather than his death — rather than the fiery hell that promised to steal him away from her — but that Vader should now declare victory over her once again.

 _Luke._

* * *

 _And so it is…_

 _Just like you said it would be._

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 **Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or its characters.** **(Cover photo credit: leias . tumblr . com** **)**

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 _For Emmy, Forever Ago..._

 _Happy birthday to my best friend ever, and enjoy this story which I've been agonizing over for months now. I used The Song because I had to do it. Also, this is an explanation for the famous "I love you," "I know," sequence. So if you wanna headcanon that... go right ahead._

 _Thanks for reading! Don't forget to review :)_


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